


I Can't Get Off The Carousel

by WitchStuff



Category: My Mad Fat Diary
Genre: Angst, F/M, Heartbreak, Post-Break Up, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 06:31:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2378339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchStuff/pseuds/WitchStuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn post-breakup (Season 2), just barely hanging in there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can't Get Off The Carousel

He wakes up and goes to college, sits in classrooms and his mind is nowhere. His leg is asleep and he is asleep. The teacher asks a question and he doesn't raise his hand but he gets called on anyway, and gives a half-assed answer and is told by a teacher to see him after class, but he's not there, he's numb, numb, numb. 

But then the bell rings and he leaves with all the others and at the end of the hall and the edge of his vision he catches an impression, a shape, red plaids and a skirt, a wave of dark hair, and he is not numb, not bullet-proof. He turns in a rush and walks the other way, headphones for a mask, to meet his mates and cling to that. 

They are his mates because he had them first, and she is somewhere else, on the other side of the world. Their worlds are not touching anymore. They are not touching anymore.

Shame. Not so long ago he was allowed to touch that hair, his lips on her neck, his arm around her waist, and one time, his fingers in the sweetest place but he doesn't think about that anymore and if he does he's really not bothered because he's detached and distant. It's just a shame, is all, because he wasn’t done, not nearly done touching and being touched. Such a waste, to have all this stuff inside and have nowhere to put it.

Lucky he knows how to handle times like these. He has a set of tools he doesn't even know when or where he got, but they were right there within arm's reach when he needed. If you feel lonely, you go hang with your loud crazy mates. To get through an evening like that, drink. A lot. To keep from having to speak or answer questions or give your opinion on anything, roll and then smoke, cigarette after cigarette. And then you're sorted. You have an armour of pure cool on and nothing can touch you. 

Unless a really bad, really really bad, really bad fucking song you actually love comes on the jukebox and slaps you in the face with a rush of memories. Then you're fucked.

END

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Spaceman by Babylon Zoo. Yes, I went there.


End file.
